Forever Fangirling over Gale and Madge
by DesireSpark
Summary: Long, detailed Gadge one-shots. That is all. I will not update often; they take weeks to write because the chances I get to write are few and far between. Most of this writing is relatively rated T but for some pretty coarse language and suggestive themes, all is under the rated M category. Enjoy -
1. The Elevator

"I'm telling you, guys like him don't respond in jealousy. That's not how you get him to like you," he insists.

"Well what else am I supposed to do? Wrestle him to the ground and dry-hump him? Twerk into his dick? If you hadn't noticed, we women prefer to be coy and… irresistibly sexy," I reply, trying extra-hard to pull off the last part.

"Here's an idea. Call me crazy, but couldn't you go up and, I don't know, talk to him? Get his number, ask him out?"

"Please, Gale," I guffaw in a fake Capitol accent. "I am a lady. I do not ask men out."

"Of course, and the more lady-like option would be to dry-hump him?" he asks sarcastically.

"We'll call that Plan B," I respond drily.

A moment of silence, or, more accurately, a moment of deafening club music, transpires as I purposely stare at the floor in my best look of despair before he sighs and capitulates. "Fine," he mutters.

"Yes!" I shout, jumping from my seat and wrapping him in a hug.

"You just love finding new ways to piss me off, Undersee," he reasons, but the edges of his lips start curling up on the sides, because I know he loves being pissed off. "Alright, what are the rules?" he groans, cutting to the chase. That's what I have always liked about Gale; he says what he means and does it quickly. If it weren't for our mutual lack of general emotion, we wouldn't mesh so well. Of course, we also fight like angry cats, but that's good for us.

"You follow my lead. You wait for me to make the moves. You keep your hands close to or on my ass as much as possible. You dance close and act like you're trying to cop a feel at all times. But don't you dare touch my boobs or I'll stab you in your jugular with a fork. Got it?"

"Madge, I've touched your boobs before," he reminds me almost sheepishly.

"We were 14 playing 7 Minutes in Heaven and we were prepubescent and we didn't even know each other. It doesn't count. In 20 seconds, come over to me, bring me a drink, compliment me, and bring me back out to dance. Okay?"

"All I'm saying is, I should get some kind of reward for doing you this favor so graciously," he says mischievously.

"What do you want me to do, suck your dick when we go back home?" I exclaim, scaling back the volume with twice the anger in my voice.

"Hey, we can do that anywhere you want. It doesn't have to be the apartment," he returns. I just roll my eyes at his crude humor and turn on my heel. And just as I expected, he smacks my ass as I stride away from him.

"Hey, Peeta," I say in my sexiest voice once I reach him halfway across the room.

"Hi, Madge," he responds, distracted. "Have you seen Katniss?"

I peer over his shoulder, zeroing in on the girl in question, who sits alone in the corner, clutching her red Solo cup and looking skeptically around the room. "No, not recently. How have you been? It must have been forever since I last saw you," I say to change the subject, brushing his arm naturally and flashing him a smile. His eyes never leave their search around the room.

"Great, great," he intones absently, checking along the far wall for, presumably, Katniss.

Suddenly a body appears on my right, lips grazing my neck in a blind search for my ear. "Does this break any rules?" Gale whispers with two kisses to my upper jaw, his deep voice reverberating in my ear and along my skin, making me shiver.

"Oh, Gale, you scared me!" I giggle, taking the drink from him as his hand slides down my back and squeezes my butt a little. I have to admit, I liked that – a lot – and I feel my chest flush with warmth. "Peeta, you know Gale, right? We all had Calculus together in the last year of high school," I relate, ignoring the sensations pulsing through my body.

"Sure, Madge, yeah," he responds without even looking our direction. "I have to go…" he trails off, leaving us midsentence without an explanation. It's not like it was needed, anyway. He's so fixated on Katniss he might as well write it across his forehead.

My face twists a little when Gale looks at me. His hand slides from my butt into my hand and he squeezes a little. "You're okay," he says soothingly, sidling closer to me. "Peeta will realize she's not over there, turn around, and pace back here in exactly 5 seconds. When he does, be prepared for a panty-dropping kiss," he jokes, winking, and I prepare my half-hearted, last-ditch effort to get Peeta's attention. I don't let on, however, that I don't care much about getting Peeta anymore.

Gale's right hand glides effortlessly over my butt, pressing me just slightly closer to remind me of his appreciation for my tight dress. He places his drink on the table, and then takes mine out of my hand to place it next to his. His left hand moves to cradle my hip as his mouth folds into mine in a sensual French kiss. His lips move over mine slowly yet pleasingly, and all of a sudden my body hums in response. His left hand trails slowly upward from my hip, his fingers tracing over my stomach and nearly brushing over my chest before he rests his hand around my back.

All too soon, he pulls his face away from mine, and for a few lingering seconds I wish he'd stay closer. I blink, my vision bleary, confused by what I feel for Gale instead of Peeta. I curse how well he knows me, because for a second his face screws up in confusion before he smiles hesitantly at me.

I don't dare check if Peeta saw us kissing and became jealous; I almost don't care anymore. But Gale does, for my sake, and runs a hand through his hair when he sees Katniss and Peeta leaned in a corner, their faces hanging mere centimeters apart.

Gale turns to me and cautiously takes his hand away from my rear. "I told you Madge, he's just not that into you. That kind of love takes more than jealousy to distract him from Katniss."

"I know," I sigh, taking a gulp from my drink. "God, what is this, Keystone?" I murmur, cringing at the stale-tasting, low-quality beer. "It just kind of sucks, seeing him so in love with her. Are you okay about it? I mean, her falling for him and all?"

"You know I've been over Katniss for a long time. Besides, she needs somebody like him and I shouldn't be with somebody like her."

I silently agree and wonder whom he thinks he should be with while sullenly sipping on my drink. Gale watches me for a few moments and leans in to ask, "You want to get out of here?"

I look back at him for a few moments, only thinking of what that usually implies when it is asked at a club like this. But it's Gale and he's just looking out for me. I nod in response and head toward the exit.

We get to the apartment building after walking for about 15 minutes. He holds the door open for me and I turn down the hall to the elevator. "I know you just hold the door open for me so you can look at my ass," I jeer at him sarcastically.

He steps into the elevator and stomps his foot dramatically. "Damn, you've spoiled my secret!" he sighs, looking down at me with those dark grey eyes. "Would you blame me?" he asks, batting his eyelashes before leering at me.

"God, Gale, keep it in your pants!" I screech through laughter.

"Man, Peeta really doesn't know what he's missing," he comments as he presses the 15 button, his eyes scrolling all the way up to my face.

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" I chuckle, a challenge.

He smiles widely without response and looks down at the floor, shaking his head.

I decide on a whim, maybe influenced by a little bit of tequila, to ask him about his confusing comment before. "What did you mean when you said you don't think you should be with Katniss?" I ask in earnest.

He lets out a deep, slow breath and leans against the wall of the elevator. "She needs somebody to make her feel safe, to be her protector, and she finds hope in Peeta. But I need somebody who is confident enough to piss me off all the time," he says with a laugh.

I think for a few seconds about what he said, and I come to the conclusion that he's completely right. Katniss, after leading the nation in the rebellion, needs safety, and she finds that in sensitive Peeta. But Gale needs somebody to bicker with but who won't cry when he calls her a bitch for calling him an asshole. The voice in my head stutters for a second before I realize we had that same argument, and the result was our understood mutual apology about 2 minutes later when our vicious argument spiraled into silly name-calling. I turn to Gale with the "eureka" look of someone who just came to a life-altering epiphany.

"I can piss you off," I say slowly before pressing my body up against his and pulling on his neck until his lips are on mine. He is slowed by shock, but as soon as he realizes what's going on, he pulls my bottom lip between his, and my chin rises and falls to the same rhythm as his kiss. Just as he moves his face closer to deepen the kiss, I pull away just enough to separate our lips, then move up and pull his bottom lip with my teeth. I swiftly move back and then up again as if I'm going to continue kissing him, but as soon as he goes for the bait, I pull away and hold his face away from me, my chest heaving and out of breath. I can feel his anticipation and frustration like a suffocating tension, and I almost give in to my own, but I timed this perfectly and the elevator has just opened to our floor. I push off the wall, flipping my blonde locks over my shoulder as I walk down the hall.

That ought to piss him off a bit.

He follows a few seconds later when the elevator's about to close, presumably slowed by my "panty-dropping kiss," to use his words. I push the key in the lock to open up the apartment, hang them on the hook, and go to the fridge for some ice cream and beer.

I scoop out moose tracks and take the second-to-last PBR from the fridge before I slowly make my way to my room. I smile only on the inside when I see Gale in the open doorway just staring over at me.

I leave my door open just a crack while I pull my dress over my head and change into a stolen pair of Gale's boxers and one of my loose-fitting t-shirts. I am sitting crisscross-applesauce on my bed spooning moose tracks into my mouth when he pushes the door open and stands there, his face drawn over with anger.

"What the fuck?" he fumes, glaring at the spoon dangling midair.

I take a chug of my PBR in response, my eyes never leaving his.

He shifts on his feet, anger building. "You just kiss me like that out of the blue and leave me hanging? No explanation, no nothing?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say in mock apology, placing my hand dramatically over my heart. "Did you want me to give you that reward now for helping me with my jealousy scheme? Okay, you take off your pants while I finish this up. Hang on a sec." I take a shallow sip of beer and don't budge.

"Is this some kind of a game to you?" he yells, edging closer to the end of my bed.

"I don't recall pulling out the Monopoly board and paper money," I fire back, matching his fiery glare.

"Cut the shit, Madge. If you're just going to play around with me, kiss me when you feel like it, let me get handsy when you need it, then I don't see why I bother with you," he screams, throwing his hands around as if the gestures help to accomplish his point.

"What happened to the 'Peeta doesn't know what he's missing' stuff, huh? You get all cute and romantic and shit and now all of a sudden what I'm doing doesn't cut it? It gets tough with me and you think it's okay to just back off and let it be? You can't just keep me at arm's length forever incase I hurt you. News flash: if I wanted to, I would have a long time ago."

"See, that's just it! You and me, we're the same. You tell me I can't constantly be the romantic who's always there but you're the exact same way. You can't stand to tell people how you really feel or let anybody see you emote because you're so caught up in your self-doubt pity party that you're completely incapable of love or feelings. You know how I know that? Because I don't have any emotions, either. We're practically the same person. The only reason you don't like that about me is because you're in the same boat, sweetheart."

"Don't you dare 'sweetheart' me!" I yell, my ice cream and PBR flung on the dresser as I spring up from my bed. "I don't handle emotions openly because I'm introverted. You don't handle them because of all the shit you have going on in your messed up life that you can't figure out."

"Oh, my life is messed up? How about you? You date but don't let anybody get close enough to see any of the real you. You don't want to be loved because you don't think you deserve it. Sound accurate yet?"

"Shut up," I growl, feeling my fingers tingle.

"You try so hard to find somebody who will love you but you end up not wanting to be loved because you don't think anybody should. You want to know why? Because your parents never loved you!" he finishes, the room, the apartment, and, it seems, the entire world going silent.

My mouth clamps shut but my tired eyes just rest on Gale's horrified face. I don't even feel the sting from his venomous words. After all, he's not wrong.

"Oh my God, Madge, I did not mean that," he murmurs, unsure if he should hug me or stay away.

"I know," I smile weakly, because he really doesn't mean to hurt me. "You're right but you didn't mean it."

"Are you tired of arguing yet? Because I'm done being pissed off for now," he smirks.

"You bastard," I say in monotone with a smile creeping over my lips. "Yeah, I'm good."


	2. Antediluvian

Garrulous. Talking too much.

Hoary. Very old; ancient.

Antediluvian. Old-fashioned; primitive.

Neophyte. Beginner; novice.

Perspicacious. Having keen judgment or understanding; acutely perceptive

Turpitude. Vileness, depravity.

I flip the book closed and carefully replace it on the shelf. It's falling apart. The blue cover is falling away in pieces, the edges curling and fraying. The binding turned dark and worn long ago, and the glue holding the pages together is slowly losing its stick. The information inside it, though, is still very useful. The pages themselves might smell like an attic with creaky, dust-covered floors, but the words come alive when I read them. Every word has a distinct sound and flavor; every word resonates differently in my mind.

Take antediluvian for example. It sounds proper and pompous, like an aristocratic woman in a corseted Victorian gown carrying around a little umbrella with ribbons who says all these big words to sound high up when really she just means old-fashioned. It tastes like tea and crumpets at Sunday tea-time. So then the definition is old-fashioned.

Perspicacious tastes like oranges and cinnamon. It has a certain bite to it, because you say the first part of the word, but then it changes on you before you're even done saying it. When you pronounce it, you have to be able to judge what it's going to sound like or else you're going to end up with loose syllables and jumbled sounds. You have to be perspicacious to say it.

Words make sense. Maybe nobody talks like this anymore, with big, fancy words that disguise a simple meaning, but for some reason, I love figuring out what they used to mean to people. It's comforting.

I won't say it makes me any more liked or popular, though. In District 12, there are the Town kids and the Seam kids. It seems black and white, but there's more to it. There are divisions among the Town kids based on who's cooler or prettier or whatever, but I never really fit into the whole social circles thing because of my father. Being the Mayor's daughter has its perks, but I certainly don't have any friends because of how much money I have. They all look down on me because they think I expect them to look up to me, but there's a whole other story there.

If I could pick, I would be friends with people from the Seam. The Town kids are all shallow and stuck-up, as if being mercantile kids makes them better than the coal-mining part of the district. The Seam kids are hard-working, honest, decent people. Of course, most of them also scorn me because of my status, so there's no real place for me to fit in.

As if I would find any ease in social interaction. I'm an awkward person, I'm quippy and sarcastic, I'm bitter. I've never fit in with anybody – not even as friends. Nobody understands the literary references I make. I've given up completely on the idea of love.

Who am I?

I know that people wonder about me. My father can't seem to understand my interest in writing and reading when there are so many issues he must attend to that I might help him with. I think he wants me to be mayor after him one day, but I don't know if I could do that. I want to be a teacher instead, which is unheard of and ridiculous; why would a rich mayor's daughter stoop to such a level?

Writing and reading fascinate me, and I only ever want to do that. If I can teach kids about that all day, I'd be happy. Or maybe I could just live off my father's wealth and write and read all day in the mansion by myself instead, as the town shut-in. It's a tempting idea.

I'm doing a pretty good job of that already; I rarely speak to anyone other than my father or the occasional strawberry trade with Gale or buying bread from Peeta at the Mellark Bakery. And I've got more notebooks full of my writing than I'd care to admit.

There's a harsh thump on the door that startles me enough to drop a journal on the ground. I'd be surprised if it wasn't Darius again looking for a hook-up.

But it's not Darius; it's Gale Hawthorne, the tall, brooding Seam boy who sells me strawberries. I don't even like strawberries, but if I told him that he'd stop coming here. He says he doesn't need my pity, but what he doesn't know is that it's not pity. I just don't want everything my father gives me, and maybe if I give it to someone deserving as him, it would be penance for being so fortunate among all this disparity.

"Want any strawberries?" he asks as soon as I pull the door open.

"Well hello to you too Hawthorne," I smile at his patched, worn clothes and the mud streaked across his cheek. He carries a bleeding bag, an obvious sign of the animals he's hunted today, and a bucket of the red fruit. The smile quickly fades when I see who else is coming to my door. Peacekeepers. And not Peacekeepers from here, either. It's the real deal, the strict guys who come once a year and stay in the Mayor's Mansion for a week to inspect the District.

"Oh my God, get in here. Now." I reach out to grab his sleeve and yank him across the threshold of the door along with the bucket of strawberries and the bag of meat.

"What the hell?" he asks, not out of anger, but sheer surprise. His eyes are wild and he looks uncomfortable inside the mansion, but I rush him up the stairs to my bedroom anyway, practically the only room in the house the Peacekeepers won't go.

"It's the Inspection. Go! Go! Get in my room, now!" I yell, trying to keep my voice down but at the same time I'm panicked and flustered and trying to keep Gale out of trouble. I practically slam the door behind us once we're safely inside, and throw my weight against the door, breathing heavily.

"That was close," I breathe, running a hand through my hair.

He starts toward the door where I'm standing, his visage serious. "You could get in so much trouble for this." He's standing over me, his hand reaching for the doorknob. I'm too quick, and instead my own hand curls around the knob, and his hand grasps mine. I stare into his dark grey eyes, sensing the urgency.

"Seriously, if they catch us in here with this stuff, we'll both be punished," he enunciates, his eyes becoming darker and darker by the second.

"I don't care," I say back quickly, the weight of my words hanging between us. "What are you going to do, waltz down the hallway with all that stuff? You'd be begging for a whipping!"

"What if they catch us in here with the strawberries and dead animals? Then the both of us would be dead. Wouldn't you rather let me take the blame, considering I'm the one to blame?"

"They won't catch us! They never come in here, what business would they have here?" He seems to be weighing the options, and I just pray he stays. If they caught him, I'd never forgive myself.

"Okay," he says slowly, retracting his hand from the doorknob.

"Okay," I repeat, stepping around him to my bed. I lay across it and open a book, trying not to make the elephant in the room more obvious. In a normal situation, there would really only be one reason for a boy and a girl of our age to be alone in a bedroom together with the door closed. The little voice in my head sighs.

He hasn't sat yet, he just lingers around the room awkwardly. He's looking over all the pictures in frames and books laying around. "You know you can sit down, you don't have to keep scavenging through all my stuff."

He flinches and gives me a crooked smile. "How long do I have to sit here under your scrutiny before I can leave and not get caught by the Inspectors?"

I giggle and look at him after closing the book. "You should be thankful that I'm letting you stay here. 'Appreciation is a wonderful thing: It makes what is excellent in others belong to us as well.'"

"What?" he breathes in disbelief. It's Voltaire, I wouldn't expect him, or anyone, really, to know what I'm talking about.

I frown and look at the floor. "Nothing."

"What are you reading?" he inquires, drawing closer.

"It's Charles Dickens. A Tale of Two Cities. It's about the French Revolution, way before even the Dark Days. Centuries before our time. It's pretty gruesome, they kill people with this thing called a guillotine, this big metal slicer thing that chops your head clean off. And the revolutionaries start going nuts and putting dead people's heads on pikes and parading them around like trophies. It's been banned for years but my dad's family has had this library forever." I know that I'm rambling, but it's difficult not to with Gale getting so near. He finally seats himself on the ground, leaning up against my bed, and his face seems impossibly close.

"Well we both know that 'It is dangerous to be right when the government is wrong,'" he replies with a smirk.

He knows Voltaire?

"Impressive," I muse apathetically, trying not to let on just how impressive that was. My questioning expression begs to know how he's read Voltaire.

"My mom used to be best friends with a girl who was killed in the Hunger Games, and she left her library to my mom. She told me that they used to read the same books together and talk about them for hours. My dad used to read them to me every night before he…" he trails off.

"Gale," I whisper. He flinches and I slide down to the ground to sit next to him.

"I don't need your pity, Undersee," he growls and stands abruptly.

"I'm not pitying you," I say defensively, moving to my feet. His back faces me, but I keep trying. "Talking to a friend can help. You don't have to bury it all inside you."

"Yeah, and what would you know about that? You don't have any," he snarls after turning to face me. His words don't even hurt. It's like a blunt butter knife trying to cut through metal.

"Wow, thank you. Nice thing to say to someone who has only been kind to you since Day 1. Got any others you'd like to throw out there?" Even if I'm a good foot shorter than him, I step closer and stare up into his face.

"Oh, plenty. You know, you parade around this district with your stupid frilly dresses and lace and makeup and perfectly curled hair trying to get people to like you but everyone hates you because you're so self-righteous. Because Daddy can buy anything for you," he yells, walking towards me and forcing me to walk backwards closer and closer to the wall.

"Keep it coming," I say, my voice rising as I scowl at him.

"You never stop to think that maybe there are others around you who look at you every day trying so hard not to want what you have, because it makes you into such a conceited little princess."

I scream in frustration, right into his face, throwing my hands in the air. "You think you know everything, don't you? You assume that the Mayor's daughter with her perfect clothes and perfect hair has a perfect life? Well you'd be wrong. Because everybody hates me for something I can't control, and that sucks more than anything. Yeah, I know I've never had any friends. That's because nobody has given me the chance! Every day is a struggle for me not to lose it because everybody automatically thinks I have everything I want, and it may be true that I don't have to work to provide for my family like you but the one thing in the world I want isn't all of these clothes and all the money my dad has. You have a loving family and friends. I've never had that! My mother and father have never so much as acknowledged me. I don't have any siblings. I don't have any friends. I'm trying so hard, to connect with somebody, anybody, but it's like I'm being blocked out of everyone's lives because they just don't understand that the toughest life struggle isn't providing for a family. It's not having one… and not being loved."

His eyes scan over my face, the visage of a china doll hiding the pain. He steps away from me, looks down to the floor, then back up into my eyes, and murmurs, "I'm sorry, Undersee. I don't know why I have such a problem with you. I didn't mean what I said."

I snort bitterly. "You have meant it every time you've thought it about me before, why don't you mean it now after you've said it?"

The edges of his lips turn up in a grin. "You don't know what I think about you."

I narrow my eyes at him questioningly. "Oh? And what do you think about me?"

He sighs, the smile still playing over his face. "I think that you keep surprising me. I don't know what to make of you, and it's frustrating because… because I feel like I want to know you, and I don't know what to do about it."

" 'Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do'," I answer, crossing my arms over my chest.

This conjures emotion in him, and something from deep inside him lights his eyes as he turns quickly towards me, his head snapping up. "I don't want to be guilty," he enunciates firmly.

"What?" I stammer as he begins to walk purposefully towards me again.

"I don't want to be guilty," he whispers, before pushing me up against the wall abruptly but gently, creating a human trap with his body. His palms push up against the wall inches from my face, and his body presses up against mine as he lowers his lips slowly over my face. Surprised, my arms uncross themselves, and my delicate hands barely ghost over his chest. My fingers settle into the curve of his collarbone as he lips descend onto mine in a quick, chaste kiss. His lips are soft and gentle, and when he pulls back from me his grey eyes melt into my blue ones before he kisses me again. His tender mouth molds onto mine, and all I can think about is living in this moment forever. His body presses against me firmly, and his rough hands fall over my arms, trailing down to my hips. He slides his fingers under the hem of my shirt to touch my skin, and I shiver at the carnal contact. My fingernails dig into his collarbone, and he responds by deepening the kiss. He tugs on my top lip and turns his head to the other side as his hands rub roughly over my exposed hips. I gently bite his lower lip, and his response is a pleasured groan. Soon, my fingers trace up his neck and into his lush brown hair, and I grasp it between my fingers, trying to pull him closer to me. I release his hair finally and drift my hands slowly from his neck down to his chest, over his stomach, and then secure my fingers through the belt loops of his pants, pulling him as close as possible for the last lingering seconds of the kiss. Then, I swiftly push his hips away and separate my mouth from his. He still remains so close that it feels like there isn't even air between our faces.

No matter how great that kiss was, I want to know what's going on. "Hawthorne?" I murmur, staring up into his eyes.

"You asked," he says, as if that's an answer. I furrow my eyebrows at him, wondering at the ambiguity. He nods with an embarrassed smile, and looks at the ground as he explains, as if he can't bring himself to look me in the eyes when he tells me how he feels. "You wanted to know what I thought about you. And that's all I've thought about you since I met you."


	3. The Girl with the Strawberries

"_Undersee?" I heard his voice calling to me without knocking at the door. I stopped playing the piano and went to him._

"_Gale," I said in obvious surprise. "What are you doing here?"_

"_Look, I don't really have time to explain," his face and voice were both frantic, his composure lost. "I don't know how much your father tells you about his business, or even how much he knows." He seemed like he didn't know what else to say, but he was trying so hard to convince me._

"_What's going on?" I'm utterly confused, but I think I have an idea of where this is leading._

_He scratched the back of his head and looked into my eyes, expressing the seriousness of the situation. "Undersee, you can't stay here. Don't be stupid and risk your life. The Capitol's planning something. Please come, Margaret."_

I reflect on that fateful day and wonder why Gale Hawthorne decided I was important enough to warn of the bombings the Capitol launched only minutes after we were safely out of the district and running headlong for Thirteen. He never looked at me differently, interacted with me more than usual, or made an obvious effort to even be friends. We both just kind of existed after that, separately.

When the war was over the districts slowly rebuilt their lives, mourning the dead and preparing for change. I don't know where Hawthorne went after that, I would have assumed he would return to 12 to make a new life for himself. My parents were dead, traveling to the Capitol for official business, killed by bombings on a government building. I was very much alive, though, and moving back to 12 in search of a way to restart everything over again.

I haven't seen Hawthorne, though. I was surprised at first that he didn't go back to his home, but quickly realized it's where Katniss and Peeta are, happily together. Of course he didn't go back there; he couldn't bear to see the girl he belonged with stolen away from someone he knew deep down was better for her than his own self. Not a day passed that I didn't wonder about him and why he chose to save the girl with the strawberries.

The answer found me, I suppose, when I traveled to District 2 for a ceremony of sorts for the dead tributes of the past. I wanted to go for Aunt Maysilee, my mother's sister, who was reaped into the second Quarter Quell. Of course there were others, girls and boys I knew from the district, maybe whom I'd grown up around, sat next to in class, shared a seat with on the school bus, or even just seen in passing. It wasn't important, really, who I was going for as much as the cause in general.

The auditorium for the morning showing was packed full with people – mothers and fathers of dead tribute children, grandparents who never experienced the full lives of their children's children, lovers of the reaped, brothers and sisters of the chosen, best friends of the unfortunate. I seat myself delicately amongst the gatherers and smile politely to those around me, since we're all feeling the same grief, and mourning the same dead children who have never quite been dead in our hearts.

I smooth down my light pink dress, picking at lint on my black cotton leggings. White cable-knit socks peek over my tall brown leather boots, and a white cashmere beret adorns my golden hair that curls over my shoulders. I remember the way he used to look at me when I wore things like this – he was disgusted. While Town and Seam boys alike gawked at my figure and relished in the heat of the summer months that forced me to wear less clothing, Hawthorne would never appear so delighted when he saw me. I knew it was because he hated my apparent flaunting of my money. I hated the way it made him curl his hands into fists, because for some reason, making people like him upset also upset me in some way. I could never explain it, but I always wanted to make Hawthorne like me. It was never any use; he never stopped hating me for my money.

I sigh and lower my gaze to the floor, defeated by my own thoughts and reflections on how life used to be. And still I wonder whatever happened to that boy in the woods.

When the ceremony ends, the people slowly exit from the auditorium, lost in a delirium of emotion after watching the dead faces on the screen come to life in their minds. Every laugh they used to make, every smile they once showed, every silly conversation they used to have, every fleeting moment they remember came back with a sudden gush of fury that would never vacate the minds of the people who were once maybe a little happy.

I can remember every child from District 12 for the last decade of Games. Those kids I went to school with, invited over for slumber parties, shared my lunch with, played with in the park, babysat by for a few nights, they all came alive up there, reminding me exactly what the Capitol took from me for years. I grew up around the dead, or at least I might as well have.

"Undersee?" A voice calls out. I don't lift my head, but I am yanked back to reality where I realize I'm now the only one left in the room, silently allowing tears to peak over my eyelids and fall down my face.

"Undersee," the voice says again, and this time I have the strength to turn my head in response. I am stunned by what greets me – a burly and even more built Gale Hawthorne than I remember.

I don't think. I don't speak. I simply get up from my chair, grab my leather satchel and book, and stride down the aisle toward him. My tired eyes betray nothing, a cold glare shielding anything from the outside, and my pink, tear-stained face is harsh. As he smiles slightly and begins to walk toward me, I turn and walk right out of the auditorium. I hardly notice his confused reaction, frantically running after me to catch up. I'm not sure what he wants exactly, but I know that he brings back a lot of memories that I don't want to face anymore, just as I'm about to try to get over everything. This day has been too much, and I'm not much interested in what he has to say. Really, he has nothing to say to me – I was just another pretty face among thousands, one single person he couldn't possibly care about more than the others.

I rush out of the building, intent on the bus that will take me to the train station so I can go back home and forget about him, about all of this. I want to move past this pain, and he just reminds me of all of it again. I don't want to have to talk to him or look at him anymore because all I see is what my life once was.

He's screaming down the street, caught up in a crowd of people while I managed to evade him. I have a good head start and the bus is only a block away. I quicken my pace to a fast walk, pull my coat tighter around myself, and try to block out the voice that I remember from that day he kept me from the bombing. Maybe I do owe him something, but there's nothing I want to do about it.

I board the bus, the last person in line, and deposit change before taking a seat on an empty bench, a mother with two young kids across the aisle. I stare out the window and wait for the despair to leave. It was a bad idea to come here for that ceremony.

A gray mass flashes by the window I stare out of. It can't be, but I know it is. The bus driver has already closed the doors, but he's pleading, asking for him to just open the doors for him. I'm disappointed when the driver opens them, and Gale walks right up the steps, looking for blonde curls and blue eyes. I sink lower in my seat, hoping maybe he'll think he just lost me and boarded the wrong bus. But he spots me, and sits right down in the seat next to me.

"This seat taken?" he inquires ironically, and flashes a bright smile. I squeeze my eyes shut and push my head against the glass of the window, figuring I might as well just ride out the storm.

"Man, I haven't seen you for years, Undersee. How have you been?" he asks cheerily. I am in no mood. I don't reply. "Not much of a talker, huh?" he comments after a long pause. "I never was, either. You remember. But I just haven't seen you in so long, I want to catch up." I raise my eyebrow and roll my eyes, settling further into my seat.

"I moved out here to District 2, they give pretty good salaries for rebuilding stuff. I've been in a whole bunch of projects for buildings, they call it construction. What have you been up to?" I can't help it; a small tear rolls over my cheek. It's too similar a person and too different a situation. I don't want any of this, and he's just making it worse by trying to make it better.

"Undersee?" he whispers, leaning his face close. His cologne is heavenly, but it doesn't make me forget any of this. He reaches around and pulls my shoulder from the side of the bus, and all of a sudden I'm completely leaning into him, my head resting on his right shoulder. He tugs at my hair gently, soothing me. Gradually, this stops feeling so wrong and starts to feel like home. It's not reminiscent of my old life; it's just okay.

I don't know how long I'm on that bus, but Gale stays for the whole ride. At some point, he hefts my weight up, and I follow him off. The mother is still sitting there with her two children, but they're among the very few left on the bus. He looks into my eyes, takes my hand, and leads me into a building. I stand there in the elevator, allowing him to clasp my hand, while I stare at the floor and let my hair drape itself around my face. He leads me around the corner, jingles some keys around before opening the door, and walks me inside. I sit on a comfortable chair while he stares at me.

"I'm making you some tea. You look like you just got run over by a car."

He disappears into the other room, but something drives me toward him. I saunter in after him. His back is facing me as he puts a small pan of water over a bright red burner. I can't help myself, sidling up close to him on the bus felt all too good, and I approach him from behind, letting my body touch his ever so lightly. He places the pot on top of the pan slowly, turns around, and envelops me in a strong hug. His muscles bind me and all I can describe this feeling as is safe.

I don't cry, not anymore. But I have to know.

"Hawthorne," I say into his chest.

"Mhmm," he mumbles back.

"Why did you warn me about the bombings that day everyone left District 12?"

His body stiffens. "What are you talking about? I warned everyone."

I move back. "No, you didn't. You warned everyone from the Seam, but you didn't have time to evacuate the Town," I say, looking into his ashen eyes. "Why did you warn me?" I repeat.

His hands grasp me by the shoulders firmly but gently and he pushes me back. I can see it, the same thing that I do when people try to talk to me. Walls forming, shutting things out. His hand goes to the back of his neck, and he turns away, tending to the tea. "I warned everyone. They just didn't come," he tries to explain.

"Don't you dare lie to me, Hawthorne."

He breathes in sharply. "Alright, okay. I warned you. I didn't have time for everyone else, so I thought about someone from the Town that would be worth saving, somebody I didn't want to leave in 12. Yeah, I thought of you. Are you happy now?" he says, exasperated.

I take a step closer, and take his shoulder, forcing him to turn around. He looks uncomfortable by how close we are, but that was the idea. "Why?"

He looks from my eyes to my lips, then back up again. Instead of answering my question, he places his left hand on my neck, flattening my blonde tresses between my neck and his hand, and leans his lips down to mine. His right hand is low on my left hip, and he pulls me close to him. At first, his kiss is soft and sweet, his smooth, velvety lips pulling at mine. Then, it becomes desperate, searching for air while still wanting, and needing, to hold on. When we break apart, we're breathing hotly onto each other, and he presses his nose and forehead to mine. I stare innocently up, surprised but not willing to walk away. His eyes are still closed, as if he's in a dream, but he slowly opens them and pulls his face away. Somehow my hands made their way up into his hair, and I trail them down his neck and shoulders slowly to rest on his chest.

I guess that's a good enough answer.

His mouth opens again, this time to speak. "I'm sorry for everything I never said," he whispers in a sexy, gruff voice.

"What would you have said?" I ask, confused. "I thought you … what about Katniss?"

He smiles, marking his cheeks with adorable little dimples. "I thought I did, you know, love her. But we're no good for each other, as anything more than friends. She made that pretty obvious, at least. But you…" he trails off. I look into his eyes expectantly, and cock my head to the right slightly. His voice softens. "Are…" his hand that still rests on my hip slides across my back, and he pulls me even closer. His lips descend onto mine, sweetly tugging at my lips. He curls his hand before rubbing the back of it on my cheek, and I can feel his muscular arms around me, just holding me. He pulls back at a torturously slow pace, sealing the kiss. I open my eyes to see his gazing into them, before he whispers, "Perfect."


	4. The Last Time

The first time he left me I cried a lot. I cried heavy, hurt tears for days because Gale Hawthorne was the love of my life but he wasn't mine. He belonged to Katniss, because he was in love with her, not me, and he wouldn't pass up the chance to go chase after her.

The second time he left me I didn't cry at all. I had expected it all along, and the breakup was just a wakeup call back to reality. Because the whole time I knew I was lying to myself. Because he could never truly love me. Because how could Gale Hawthorne ever love the emotionally destroyed wreck when he could have the strong, beautiful huntress?

Sometimes I think that there's a destiny for me, and for everybody else, too, but how could I be so mistaken as to what my destiny was? How could my life have gone so far off-track than where I thought it'd be? I thought Gale Hawthorne was it for me; he's my One, but I'm not his, so what does it matter anymore? Am I supposed to be alone forever now? It's not like Gale's ever coming back here to District 2; he went to 12 weeks ago to try to win Katniss over. I never actually found out if he did.

The doorbell rings and I vaguely wonder who would be out in the rain tonight, when the sky is unleashing everything that it has onto the ground, everything that I force myself to hold down. I could let go of it all, and cry myself to sleep every night because I lost my One, but crying is for the weak. That's what I tell myself, anyway. Even if I'm not around anybody but the cat, crying is weakness and weakness doesn't get anybody anywhere. I refuse to let myself be weak.

I launch myself away from the windowsill. I always wanted a cute little apartment with those windows that protrude from the wall so there's a little cove where you can lay down and just stare out into the sky, and Gale found me one when we lived here together. And after that when he realized he couldn't stop thinking about Katniss when we talked and kissed and made love, he left. Twice.

The doorbell rings again, and I yell, "I'm coming!" angrily. Does anybody have patience anymore?

When I open the door, I immediately want to slam it in his face. A sopping wet Gale is standing there before me on the welcome mat I put there just because. Even though it has no purpose once you've walked through the carpeted halls. I look over his figure. He's shivering before me, clutching his body to conceal any shred of warmth he has left.

"Gale, what the hell are you doing?" I ask with flustered frustration. "You're going to freeze to death, get in here." I grab his arm and lead him over to my heater, pushing him to stand in front of it and handing him a towel from the bathroom. His lips are purple and his hooded sweatshirt is soaked. I hesitate a moment before I force him to face me and tug the sweatshirt over his head. He doesn't move other than to hold his arms up so I can pull the sweatshirt up, and his gaze never leaves mine. He doesn't speak.

"You're soaked," I say plainly, then pace into my bedroom and pull one of his tshirts and a pair of sweatpants out of the drawer, stuff that he left behind by accident when he went to District 12. I turn around to see him standing in the doorway with his gray tshirt still sticking to him with water, and look down at the ground so I don't have to look into his eyes or at his physique outlined by the wet clothes. He changes in the bedroom while I wait in the kitchen, heating a can of soup on the stove. He doesn't bother to close the door. What's the point? We've seen each other naked before; we had sex. And for some reason, that strikes a nerve.

"Madge." He's dangerously close, and I remember he had a way of sneaking up on me, his natural hunter's senses and silence like a weapon. I stop stirring the soup at his touch, but I am not charmed; I am angry.

"Don't touch me," I say in a voice that doesn't seem my own, but in thoughts that are all mine.

He doesn't move. "I'm just trying to –"

"Well stop it," I say in raised tone. He steps back and sits down at the table, where I place a cup of hot soup in front of him. In a softer, almost caring voice, I add, "You're going to go into hypothermic shock or something if you don't eat that."

I think he got into the habit of doing what I tell him to when I'm mad, because he wordlessly starts on the soup without indicating why he's here. It's easier that way, because he knows how stubborn I am and that there's no chance I'd even talk to him before he ate it. So I sit on the couch in the other room while an uncomfortable silence swallows the apartment for minutes that become years.

"Can we talk now?" His voice is suddenly behind me, but I am not startled. I'm used to it. He takes a seat on the chair across from me carefully.

I consider the question for a few moments, and he waits with bated breath. There's still an understanding that I will probably answer, but I'm a better writer than speaker, so it takes me longer to formulate the words into clear sentences. "That depends. Why are you here?"

He pauses. "Actually I didn't really consciously know that I was coming to see you until I was outside your door. But I think my heart kind of led me here –"

"Cut the crap," I interrupt. "That's bull shit. Why are you here?"

He's not surprised; I am always blunt and forthright. "I want… I need… to get you back," he says without prelude.

"It doesn't matter what you want or need here. You gave up those both when you left." The words sting him, which is good. That's what I intended. He broke me and he deserves nothing more than to be sent back home.

"I know I did but I just… I think you still love me because I still love you. And I want to make you happy again." He rises from his seat and walks slowly over to me, stopping when he is standing right in front of me.

"What makes you think I still love you?"

"Because I can see it. You do, you still love me. Don't you?" His hand cups my cheek, and all I want to do is close my eyes and fall into his arms again, but I know what will happen then. I will never get over him once he leaves just like the last time and the time before that.

I'm angry now. I rise from the sofa and smack his hand from my face. My finger jabs the middle of his chest and I go off. "Gale Hawthorne, you are disgusting. You can't come into my apartment and tell me who I do or do not love. Especially if that person is you." He's walking slowly backwards as I push him with my finger. "There is nothing left here for you! You took everything! Don't you see that? Don't you get it? I gave my heart to you and all you ever did was play around with it. You broke me, Gale Hawthorne, because you'll never love me. You will always be in love with Katniss and there's nothing either of us can do about it. So why don't you just take your stupid clothes and your stupid soup and your stupid attitude and get the fuck out of my apartment?"

"You're wrong, you know," he says. His voice is unnervingly soft and steady, as if me pushing him into a wall has done nothing to his confidence or his feelings.

My hand falls to my side. "About what?" I scream.

He smiles. "I'm not in love with Katniss. I never was."

"That's a lie. You went back to 12 and Katniss is with Peeta, and you can't win her over. So now I'm your sloppy seconds, isn't that right?"

"No. Katniss and Peeta broke up."

This shocks me. "What?" I stutter.

His eyebrows come together in the middle, and a small grin adorns his face. "Oh, you didn't know? Yeah, Katniss and Peeta were separated when I went back. She kissed me." Gale Hawthorne is a terrible liar, which leads me to believe, based on his serious face and unwavering gaze, that he is telling the truth.

"Then what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in 12, fucking Katniss?"

He doesn't flinch, even at my vulgar vocabulary. "Should I?" he whispers.

I don't move or make a sound. I simply process what he's said, and think about it. He had a chance with Katniss. He could be with Katniss right now. He's not with Katniss. He's here with me. He's trying to get me back. He could go back to her at any time. And I weigh the two options against each other. I could tell him to leave, and he'll go back to Katniss and I will probably never hear from him again. I could tell him to stay, and risk him leaving again for Katniss.

I'm not sure what to say. It seems relevant, so I ask, "What was the kiss like?" I expect him to say that it was completely awful, or that it felt like he was kissing his mother, or that he felt nothing. But he doesn't.

"It was … different," he says, pausing. "It was like when you switch your bedroom around. You have this perfect layout where your bed is pushed up against two walls, so you can push your pillows up on the wall and snuggle into them at night, and you can see the television right from your laying position, and the window's right there for a cool breeze at night, and everything is just perfect. But then you wonder what it would be like if you switched around all the furniture. So you do, and you realize that you don't have room to put a table or desk or bookshelf next to your bed anymore, which also means there's no way you can put a drink or alarm clock right next to your bed. And you have to turn on an awkward angle to see the TV, and when you come in the room, you have to awkwardly side-step all your furniture to get to the bed. I mean, the bedroom looked nice in your head, and you thought it was exactly what you wanted when you thought about moving the furniture for something new. But when you changed it, you lost what you really loved just to try something new. So trying the new layout was never worth it, and you should never have even done it."

I know exactly what he means but I don't know if I want to believe in him. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that… going after Katniss wasn't worth it. And I loved you from the beginning but I just never really knew it. I don't want Katniss, Madge. I want you. Please, please give me another chance. Let me in. Let me love you. Please love me."

My voice cracks and wavers when I start talking. "I don't know if I can," I whisper. "You broke me, you left me for the better option, I don't want to get hurt again."

He falls to his knees and pushes his head into my stomach while facing the ground. His hands clutch mine, and I don't want to let go. "I won't hurt you. I'll love you and only you. I promise. I'll do anything to get you back. Please, Madge," he begs. "Please." He's crying now. I didn't know Gale Hawthorne could cry. He's sobbing and repeating please over and over again.

Maybe it's because I want to, and maybe it's because I can't say no, and maybe it's both. But something feels like it's rebuilding inside of me, and I'm ready to try again; to give somebody the chance to break my heart but trusting that he won't. I haven't even begun to open myself up to him, but I know that I'm going to try. "Okay," I say.

His face darts up and he jumps to his feet. His arms fold around me, squeezing me, never letting me go. He's mumbling things that I can't hear but I know he's promising things that I hope do not go unfilled.

I push him off of me, and look him in the eye. With a stern voice, I warn, "This is the last time. I don't trust you yet. You have to earn that. This is the last time I'm asking you to love me, and if you ever do it again, we are done forever. You've broken me down too much, and now you have to fix it. I've hated you for too long and I don't want to be broken again. Do you understand me?"

"I promise, I promise, I won't hurt you again. I promise. I love you, Madge." He folds me into another hug, crying into my hair. And I don't say anything back. Yet.


	5. The Lake

She was just sitting there. Just looking, hanging over the edge of the shallow cliff overlooking the lake. She watched the lake, as if something was going to happen that she didn't want to miss. She didn't seem to mind that she wasn't doing anything. And that's what I liked about her.

"You're staring." She speaks evenly, still looking over the water. I freeze in place, hoping she's talking to someone else I can't see. No such luck; she swivels her head toward me, eyebrows raised in question.

I stumble forward from the tree line; there's no hiding my presence now.

"How did you know I was there?" I blurt, the only thing I can think to ask. In response, the edges of her lips turn up at the edges and she turns back to the lake. In short, she does not respond.

I wait in silence and walk slowly toward her across the rocks. "So what is Miss Undersee doing in the woods?" I ask as I take a seat next to her. Again I wait, and again, nothing.

"Okay," I mumble, acquiescing to a simple, comfortable silence. Maybe I'll wait for her to start.

She does, minutes later.

"I guess you're not the only one in District 12 who needs a little peace," she answers, looking up into my face with sincerity coating her features.

I take a minute to process this, and nod my head slightly while glancing at her. Her usual steamed and pressed dress and silky ribbon are traded for denim shorts, a faded grey tank top, and a messy bun. Her knees are covered in dirt and small scratches adorn her arms from the branches. I decide I like her best this way. I've always seen how tough she is, but it's a turn-on to see her showing it this way. It makes me wonder just how much manhandling she could take.

"You want to swim?" I ask, standing to remove my shirt and jeans. Secretly I hope my deep scars and worn, navy-blue briefs don't disgust her, but I would never say as much.

"Oh, no, I don't think that's a good idea," she murmurs, nervously fiddling with the strands of hair falling from her bun. Her golden locks fall completely from the hair band, cascading over her bronzed shoulders, and she capitulates to the messy fallout.

"Come on, if I can strip down to my skivvies in front of you, I think you can jump in for me real quick."

She jerks her head back at me momentarily. "Your what? – oh," she mumbles, clearly unaware of what I was doing.

I come up from behind her, kneeling close her back, and whisper in her ear, "Do I make you nervous?" She shivers in response, and a wild blush creeps over her face and neck.

"No, I just don't want to swim," she stutters shakily as I ghost away from her.

"It would be a complete waste of your last name if you didn't, you know, go under-sea."

"It's a lake. Besides, I don't see you clawing through any thorns because of your last name," she protests.

"Maybe if you're lucky, I'll find a certain flower for you with those on them," I quip.

"Very funny. Seriously, I'm not going in," she declares.

"I guess I'll just have to force you," I answer, creeping closer to her before grabbing her by the waist and hauling her over my shoulder in one swift motion.

"Hawthorne, I swear to God, you put me down right this second. Don't you dare jump in that lake. No, please! No!" she screams, before we plunge underneath the water.

She went down screaming and she comes up the same way, thrashing and cursing and splashing.

"I… can't… help…!" she manages between enormous gulps of air each time she resurfaces. She frantically claws at the water, sinking further down after every dunk.

Well, shit. She can't swim.

As quickly as I can, I grab her by the waist and pull her towards me, allowing her to wrap her arms around my neck and her legs around my hips. I have to remind myself not to think about how that feels three separate times.

She quivers and shakes in my arms, and she's struggling so much I can barely keep my head above water.

"Undersee!" I scream, squeezing her waist to get her attention.

"W-What? What? What?" she screams back, trying to bury her face in my neck.

"Well don't drown me while I'm trying to keep you from drowning! Jesus, just calm down!"

"Calm down? Calm down! You want me to fucking calm down after you dragged me into the lake and I can't even fucking swim. Get me out of the water now! I can't be in the water. Get me out now. I told you I didn't want to go in the fucking water, Hawthorne! Jesus Christ, get me out, get me out, now!"

"You can stand, you know," I say evenly after her screaming battle. She didn't notice that I had already gotten her so close to shore, but I guess she was angry enough not to care.

She just narrows her eyes, untangles herself from me, and begins to wade out of the water. "Wait, you don't have to leave! You can just stay in the shallow part here," I offer, grabbing her wrist to stop her, but she twists out of my grasp and spins on a heel to smack me in the face.

"You have no right, Hawthorne. I told you I didn't want to go in the water, so you throw me in like some kind of a joke? Don't you ever touch me again." She begins to walk away, but I don't want it to end this way. I don't want this to end, period. It's too thrilling to make her squirm.

"I can teach you to swim," I offer. My heart stops pounding when she stops walking away. She doesn't turn toward me, but I can tell she's thinking about taking me up on the offer.

Finally she spins around and crosses her arms over her chest, looking me up and down. "You can teach me?" she asks, to which I nod a little too eagerly. After a moment, she uncrosses her arms and swears under her breath in frustration. She shuffles into the water again, but I stop her.

"You can't swim in those clothes. They'll weigh you down."

"You didn't seem to have a problem with that when you pushed me in."

"Spontaneity is the word you're looking for. I didn't know you couldn't swim."

"So you want me to take my clothes off for you?" she snickers at me, winking teasingly.

I blush from my cheeks down to my neck and look down at the water to try to hide it. "Well… um… not for me, per se, but down to your… um, underwear, yeah…"

She sighs in consternation but doesn't hesitate to pull off her tank top and shorts. I think she giggles at me when I look away to be polite, even though there's nothing I want to do more than watch this girl take her shirt off.

She joins me where I stand about waist-deep in the water. "You cross the line, you die. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," I answer automatically, forcing myself to look her in the eye instead of slightly further south.

She looks up at me skeptically, but shrugs it off. "Where do we start?"

"Lie on your back," I order, suddenly wishing I could learn to filter my demanding tone.

She lets out a deep breath and asks, "In-in the water?"

I blink twice. "No, Madge. In the air."

She looks from me to the water, shakes her head, and mumbles something incomprehensibly before slowly inching down into the water. I place my right hand under her back to keep her afloat and my left hand flies to her stomach instinctively as she starts panicking.

"Don't let me sink," she repeats over and over like a mantra.

"Calm down, I'm not even doing anything. The human body just floats naturally as long as you're taking in air."

"Well you're not taking in air when you're drowning, are you?" she enunciates.

"Would you stop freaking out? You're in 3 feet of water."

"You can drown in less!"

"Not easily."

"I can't do this. Get me back to shore. I need to get out. I need to get out right now," she stumbles over her words, reaching out for me. When she stands up, I clutch her by the shoulders and drag her in further. I have the advantage of height, so when I can still stand, she flaps around like a maniac trying to stay afloat.

"You're not leaving here until you can swim," I tell her.

Her fingernails dig into my arms and she weasels her way up to grasp my shoulders. She pulls her body in closer and I swear I can smell strawberries in her hair. Her fingers shake against me, her body perplexed with fear. "Please, please, no, let me… help me…" she whimpers, trailing off as she climbs her way up to me again.

"Why are you so afraid of the water?" I ask simply.

"Is that really what's important right now? Bring me back, now!" she yells, her temper rising.

"Yes, it is important," I state.

She grumbles something back and then looks me dead in the eye to say, "I almost drowned a few years ago because the kids at school… they were…" she sighs and tries to continue, but it's unnecessary. I know what they did; kids at school have always been awful to her. "I haven't touched the water since. But I still like looking."

I swallow hard, hesitant to say anything before she's done talking. "I'm sorry that happened to you. But you can't just swear off of swimming forever. Maybe you just need something to take your mind off of the fear while you're in," I suggest.

"Like what?" she asks, her blue eyes growing slightly wider as she bites her bottom lip. God, how I want to kiss those lips.

"This," I whisper, leaning in the slightest bit to close the gap between us. Her eyes flutter three times before they drift completely shut as my mouth moves over hers. Her lips are so soft I feel like if I move too fast they'll just fall right off. She crumbles in my arms, hers practically going slack around my neck before she fully realizes what's going on. Her hands move upward into my hair, grabbing what she can as she takes a little bit of control. Her mouth opens enough for me to deepen the kiss, and I can feel her smile against me, as I slowly taste her. She tastes like strawberries. We move together at a perfect rhythm, pulling apart ever so slowly at the exact same time.

"I'm sorry, where are we?" she jokes, pressing her forehead to mine as she giggles at her own humor. I smile in response before turning my face to kiss her neck, trailing my lips slowly up her jaw as I walk closer to the shore. Eventually her body is no longer in the water; instead, her legs are wrapped around my waist and I carry her to the sand where I lay her down on her back and entrap her with my arms. Her legs are immersed in the lake but her upper body is exposed to the air, delicately strewn over the sand. Her hands slide around the back of my neck, pulling my head down to her. She opens her mouth to me and lets out a seductive moan when my tongue meets hers. I can feel her smile when my rough and calloused hands cup her delicate cheeks, and I can feel her shiver when my right hand slowly trails down her neck, over her breast-bone, and I gently rub where the fabric of her simple bra meets skin with my thumb. She clutches at my sides, gripping my hips sensually as my right hand glides over her waist and belly.

She tilts her chin up and turns her head slightly, begging me to kiss her neck, so I pull away from her sweet lips and focus my own on the sensitive skin of her jaw before sliding painfully slowly toward her collarbone. She claws tenderly at my back, whimpering quietly. In response, I shift back up to her lips and kiss her chastely just once before pulling back again to look into her eyes.

"I have to get back," she whispers, pushing herself up.

"Wait," I say, kissing her one more time with my hand pressing her head as close to me as possible.

She chuckles at me when she pulls away and seconds later she stalks away without a word. I am left to watch her gather her clothes and walk back into the tree line.


	6. Pretty Dress

It's bright and green in the forest, and it smells like earth and hope. The clean, natural atmosphere feels like freedom, a place I want to be all the time. New life is bursting around me, but in the pit of my stomach I can feel death, constantly remembering the children dying in the arena while I'm here in District 12, safe. The mayor's daughter, who never has to take out more tesserae than is necessary. The perfect little blonde, who never has to go hungry. The rich little princess, who can have anything she wants.

Golden wisps brush my cheeks when the wind screams around me, chilling me to the bone, and morning dew soaks into my shoes and leaves my feet freezing. None of it matters, though, because this is peace.

Leaves cascade from above, gently brushing the ground upon the conclusion of their descent. My feet make no noise as I slowly tread across the brush, careful not to disrupt the life around me.

I finally find the place I've been looking for, the grassy valley I can sit for hours without feeling a single thing. The earth and vegetation provides a soft cushion for me to escape everything else. I no longer need to be constantly reminded of my loneliness. Katniss and Peeta are gone, my parents have never truly been there, and I have no one else. I guess nobody wants to hang around the rich little princess anymore.

I wonder when everything started to be like this – when I lost my childhood and joined adult reality. Maybe when I was 5 and realized I was different, never having felt the gentle, loving touch of my broken mother and hopeless father. Or maybe when I was 7 and started watching the Hunger Games. Or maybe when I was 13 and discovered everyone I thought I knew actually harbored secret hatred toward me.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I jump up off the ground, scared out of my mind. I'm sure it's a Peacekeeper, here patrolling the woods to catch law-breaking citizens, and ready to haul me back to the District for a public punishment. I puff out a relieved breath when I realize it's none other than Gale Hawthorne. Who knew I'd ever be relieved to see him?

I don't know what to say for a few moments, and instead just stare at him in shock, my breathing fast and shallow. He approaches slowly, waiting for an answer. I am reminded of his tall stature and muscular arms when he comes near and take a step back when he gets close.

"Well?"

I stumble over my words, trying to answer but for some reason, unable. "I – um – I… just… I don't know," I say, looking down at the ground. In a nervous habit, I grasp my left arm just above my elbow with my right hand, crossing over my body, and bite my lower lip hard.

He looks me up and down before answering. "You aren't really dressed for the occasion, are you, Undersee?"

"I – I guess not," I mumble.

"Pretty dress," he remarks ironically.

I walk away.

"I'm not going to bite, Undersee. You don't have to leave. It's not like they're my woods," he chuckles.

I turn to face him, searching his grey eyes for honesty. When I decide he's being sincere, I walk back to my spot and sit down beside him. The sun is peaking over the horizon, painting the sky with the blood of children, and of my best friends – the only people I had in this world.

"You never answered my question."

"I know."

"Well?"

I sit in silence, pain staining my face. Maybe if I don't talk about it, I can put it out of my mind. He inhales deeply and then stares down at the ground while sighing. Time tumbles by, but the space between us does not grow or shrink, and there are no more spoken thoughts. A simple silence rests as the sun rises, and eventually, I stand to leave, ignoring the evident grass stains and dirt all over my clothes.

"Better go clean yourself up, Miss Undersee," he snidely remarks. I roll my eyes but say nothing, and instead turn to trek back through the woods. He abruptly gets up from the ground and calls after me a question I didn't expect to hear.

"Are you coming back?"

I stop in my tracks, and turn towards him quickly, confusion written all over my face. He looks hopeful, but embarrassed at his outburst, and lowers his glance to his feet. The question still lingers in the air, and I have yet to answer. "Yes," I enunciate without anything else to say, and head home.

XXXXXXXXX

Katniss is being hunted by the Careers, and I'm sick to my stomach, but I come to the forest anyway. Gale is waiting, even though the sun has yet to cast tendrils of light over the horizon. I take a place next to him, and he acknowledges my presence with a simple nod, no words necessary. We are silent, enduring the pain together. He watches his best friend – hunting partner – romantic interest – suffer in the Games (the last is intuitive speculation), while I watch the man I wished I could spend my life with try to lead the savage tributes away from my only female friend and confidante. Who is, as fate would have it, the girl he's in love with. Not me.

When I look into his face, a daring move considering the very slow progression of what I think is a friendship, he turns towards me, spilling from his grey eyes a compassionate sorrow. His mouth is slightly open, as if ready to say something, but he seems unable to find any words. It is difficult to speak, when you don't even feel like breathing anymore. He looks as broken as I am, and although scared of losing whatever I have here with Gale, I place my hand on top of his, hoping that, if nothing else, I can instill some sort of comfort into him. He waits a long time before he laces his calloused hand through my fingers with trepid hesitation. We don't make eye contact or conversation; we simply exist together, separately.

I don't know if we are helping each other, exactly, as much as leaning on one another for support. There are rare verbal exchanges between us for days, but we spend an hour together at the beginning of every day, reveling in the discovery of another person harboring the same pain. I slowly begin to lean closer to him, shifting slightly further towards him every day. He smells like autumn leaves falling to the ground, spearmint sprigs, wood smoke, and a home. Not like the unfamiliar and new scent of my house, but a home.

Today, he arrives later than usual and plunks down beside me. I can feel the uneasiness he brings, and tension falls over us like a cloud. I try to read his face, but there is nothing.

"Undersee," he finally says, cutting through the still air like a knife. I look at him and nod in response, waiting to see if he has more to say, or if that was a simple greeting. He grasps the back of his neck with his right hand, gripping and pulling at the skin uncomfortably. "What are we doing?" he finally asks.

I'm not sure how to field this question. What does he mean, what are we doing? We're finding comfort, we're making friends, we're helping each other. We're building a link to someone new, we're becoming comfortable together, we're leaning on each other. All of these are good answers, but none seem to fit the question. Instead of responding, I simply ask, "What?"

He sighs audibly and looks into the sky, his grey eyes matching the sky that has become overcast and dark. "What are we doing?" he repeats. "Why are we doing this… meeting like this… every day?"

Suddenly I understand what he's trying to do. He doesn't want to get too close to a Townie like me. I'm admittedly a little hurt. If he didn't want to be around me why has he been sticking around? Why would he do this now, after I've begun to consider him a friend? He's the only thing I have left now. And he's going to take that away.

A rage builds inside of me. Too much has been pulled right out from underneath me, and I physically cannot allow myself to be broken again. Instead, I decide to shut him out. If he was never a friend, he can't be taken from me, right?

"Awesome," I mumble sarcastically, before getting up and walking away.

"Madge, I'm sorry!" he calls, and I can hear the sincerity in his voice, although it appears feigned because he's doing this himself, by choice.

The rage threatens to boil over, and pure fury coats the back of my throat, stinging like soup that you eat even though you know it hasn't been cooled yet. The anger and frustration spills over my tongue and bubbles over my lips. It tastes like burnt toast mixed with Tabasco sauce that you don't realize burns until after it's touched every part of your mouth, and you can't find any milk. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I scream, turning towards him. I have to hide my surprise at how close he's gotten; I didn't even hear him get up and come closer. My hands find their way into my golden locks, pulling through my hair in frustration. "Why are you doing this? If you didn't want to hang around a Townie why didn't you just stop coming here every morning? Everything important to me has been taken away from me and now you're just another thing to add to the list."

"It's not because you're from the Town!" he reasons, but even he can tell that his explanation is transparent.

"Don't tell me this isn't about where I'm from when you constantly tease me for my dresses and my hair and my father!" I scream back.

"Because I'm trying to find something to hate you for!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Madge, look at me. I'm your typical Seam kid. I put in 42 entries for the Hunger Games. I wear coal dust like an accessory. In a year, I'm going to mine coal 12 hours a day. Not hating you would be a crime," he explains, his tone becoming easier and softer as he finishes.

I scoff at this. "So that's it, then, huh? I'm too good for you and you're too proud to put aside the differences and just be my friend."

"That's the thing," he says, the edges of his lips tugging up in an almost irresistible smirk. "I'm trying so hard to hate you and I just can't. You're on my mind all the time and I don't know what to do about it. Because I'm supposed to hate you, I have to hate you, but I can't." His voice is strained and desperate now, pleading for something.

"Then why are you pushing me away?" I ask, searching for an answer. Any answer.

He runs his hands through his dark brown hair in frustration. "For fuck's sake, Undersee!" he yells. "I'm not supposed to be around you, I'm not supposed to like a Townie. Do you know anybody from the Seam that has a single nice thing to say about the Town? No. So explain to me what I'm doing here. Explain to me why I'd rather be here with you than anything else. Explain to me that, Margaret." His voice has grown to a loud scream, and he throws his hands up in the air.

The use of my full name is shocking; I don't think I've ever heard him use my nickname, never mind my full first name. I bite my lip and stare at him, my eyebrows slightly coming together and my forehead crinkling in confusion. I'm still seething, but his suggestive sentiment quells the fire I'm spitting at him. "Stop," I say firmly, forcing my voice not to quiver. "I can't explain that to you, you have to figure that out yourself."

Pain streaks his face, but he moves closer and closer in slow, small steps. He tries to hold my eye contact, but instead I turn my face downward, hoping to avoid the heartbreak when he tells me goodbye.

Rather than saying goodbye, he stands in front of me and begs, "Help me." He's trying to tilt my chin up, his warm, rough fingers around my face.

"No!" I scream. My hands are on his chest, pushing him away abruptly. "No! No! No!" I'm hitting him and smacking his face, throwing everything I can into fighting him away before he can break me again. "You can't just come here and tell me you don't want me and then pull me back to you with stupid little words that don't mean anything! Just get away from me, Hawthorne!" My arms are still flailing through the air, clipping his sides, his head, his arms, his hands that reach out to me. "I won't let you!"

He keeps backing up away from me slowly, but he just lets me hit him. He doesn't defend the blows, only lets it happen. Finally, when he's had enough, he holds my wrists strongly but gently between us so my balled fists are level with my chin. "Let go of me!" I cry out, but he doesn't. Instead, he comes closer, backing me up the way I did him. His face comes dangerously close, and his breathing is ragged and full of emotion. When he stops walking, he is standing centimeters away, staring into my eyes.

"Are you done?" he whispers, and I nod faintly in response. "Good," he says. His grip loosens around my wrists, and his hands snake their way up to mine. He unclenches my fists, and entangles his fingers with mine before bringing our entwined hands down to my waist. He shifts on his feet, and slowly lowers his face over mine. His eyes are nearly closed, looking down at my lips, his eyelashes brushing over his face. His eyes dart back to mine as I wait for what's coming. His tongue comes out of his mouth, licking his lips slightly.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," he murmurs, before his eyes flutter shut and he kisses me.

Softly, sweetly.

Butterflies flap around in the pit of my stomach as my eyes drift shut and I accept the kiss gingerly. He barely parts my mouth with his lips, then pulls on my top lip tenderly. As he does, his face moves back slightly to pull back on my lip. For a brief moment, our mouths are merely touching, and the next, we're fiercely and passionately kissing each other, searching for the desire and security we've both been withholding. My hands are on his neck, in his hair, on his face, on his chest. His hands roughly move over my waist and lower back, rocking me back and forth in a carnal yet sensitive way, and I can't imagine how he knew I would like that. This kiss is like waves in the ocean, rising and falling in sync with each other, but breaks off without warning.

I breathe heavily onto his face, taken aback by the kiss, but having enjoyed every second of it. His mouth moves down my jaw to my neck, his head bent down to rest his lips on my skin. He doesn't kiss my neck, only rests his mouth there, and pulls me in close. His hands fall to my hips, moving back and forth over my lower back in rhythmic strokes.

"Please don't leave me," he whispers, a sudden worry in his deep, sexy voice.

"Please don't let me go," I answer in a faint murmur, and I can feel the smile against my skin.


	7. The Difference Between That and If

"Just you wait, Miss Undersee, you'll fall for me. I bet you don't know it, but you're falling in love with me right now. Right now. Can you feel it?" he jokes.

"You'll have to try a little harder than trying to convince me I'm already in love with you."

"Fair enough," he agrees, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger from behind. "You're as perfect as a thousand emeralds and rubies and sapphires. Let me take you to dinner," he whispers in my ear.

I grin at the ground and grasp his hand in midair to uncurl my blonde lock from his finger. I turn away and skip another rock over the water as he trails close behind me. "Those jewels get their color from the impurities within them." I smirk at his effort to remain stoic, and turn away from the water again to meander down the shore.

He is relentless, and amends quickly, "Okay, then you're as perfect as a pearl."

I answer, rather matter-of-factly, "Pearls are just masses formed inside of clams."

He sighs and keeps trying. "How about a diamond?"

I stop and turn around abruptly, looking at him flatly and completely straight-faced. "You should know better than anybody that diamonds are just compressed coal." I pause before adding, "And they say those are impossible to crack, but that's a sham. And not just for diamonds."

"Oh, yeah? And how do I crack you, Undersee?"

"I've already been cracked."

"By who?"

"What are you doing here, Gale?" I counter, avoiding his prying.

"Making sure you're still falling in love with me," he smiles.

"I came to the lake to be _alone_. Are we done here?"

He steps closer, his face hovering dangerously close to mine. "Not quite," he says in a low voice, drawing even nearer.

"What are you doing? Why are you doing that? Stop that," I reprimand.

"What?" he asks, alarmed.

"Seriously?" I scoff. "You're going to try to kiss me. Right here. Now. No. Stop that."

"I was just… I thought… but you were…" I cross my arms over my chest expectantly. "You're not flirting with me? I thought all that stuff was you… you're not just playing hard-to-get?"

"I'm getting tired of this. Just come back when you can formulate full sentences. Don't be so surprised that your next target isn't tripping over her own feet to make you like her," I reply, storming away to sit in the grass away from him.

"I'm not sure where I'm supposed to go from here," he ventures a few moments later.

"Just follow the breadcrumb trail. I'm sure you know how to get back home. Just avoid any houses made of candy, Hansel," I quip.

He chuckles. "No, I mean… well what am I supposed to do now?"

I clutch my heart in mockery. "Oh, I suppose you bite back the tears until you can be in private to weep and mend your broken heart. Maybe someday when I come to my wits I'll realize what a charming, handsome lad I'm missing out on and come crawling back to beg for forgiveness."

"Now you're just being mean."

I am quick to counter. "I'm blunt and sarcastic. It's not my fault if your precious little feelings get in the way."

"Come on, Undersee, give me a break."

I stand from my secluded area, and really look at him while saying, "I'm just so tired of people pretending, and saying things they don't mean, and bending the truth so they don't hurt somebody's feelings. I don't sugar-coat things. I am not flirting with you, Gale, and you can bet your last penny that I never will."

"Not even after I told you that you're as perfect as a diamond? That line is foolproof."

"Ah, then who's the fool – you or me?" I half-joke, folding my arms over my chest again.

"I'm not sure yet," he says, running his fingers through his glossy brown hair.

"Look, I know that's a line. I'm not perfect; nobody's supposed to be perfect. When you make a girl out to be larger than life, that's playing her, not flirting or courting or whatever the hell it's called. If you had taken a genuine interest in me, instead of throwing out a line that applies to any girl, I'd reconsider. If you'd put effort to do something for me because you care, I'd reconsider. Unfortunately you don't fall under either category." I explain, waiting for his answer. He pauses and turns away, so I shrug and walk back to the lake's shore.

"You seem to have it all figured out," he calls out minutes later.

"Yes," I answer simply.

"Are you telling me that if I had brought you flowers or done something stupid like that, then you would have kissed me?" he questions, clearly muddled by my crystal-clear explanation.

"No," I answer again, trying not to get angry.

"I don't get it. Why don't flowers work?"

I sigh, but decide to humor him. "Flowers only work if you give them to the girl because you want to do something that will make her happy. If you're doing something just because you think it will win her over, then why do it at all? It should make you happy to make her happy, and if it doesn't, you're doing it wrong."

"Then by that logic, I did good by almost kissing you," he says, dimples settling into his cheeks as he grins mischievously.

"That depends. Why were you going to kiss me?"

"Because I thought you were flirting with me. I thought you wanted to kiss me," he explains, a blush covering his cheeks.

"Then yes, I suppose. But that's based on your perception. You only thought I wanted to kiss you. You didn't know that I wanted to kiss you."

He smiles widely at me. "You wanted to kiss me."

My eyebrows knit together. "I didn't say that."

"Yes you did! You said 'You didn't know _that _I wanted to kiss you' instead of _if_! You did want me to kiss you! Damn, I knew it!"

I just roll my eyes at him. "You're immature and you're reading too far into my words. Besides, so what if I wanted to? That doesn't mean I want to date you. It means I want to kiss you."

"You did it again!"

"I know."

"So you admit you want to kiss me?"

I sigh again, flustered, and clearly beaten. "Fine, yes. It still doesn't mean anything." I throw my hands in the air in defeat as I speak, frustrated with his discovery, and what I know he thinks it means.

"Yes it does!" he teases. "It means you want to kiss me, that's what it means!" He grins widely at me, but I just glare at him, roll my eyes, and turn away into the woods to go home. Clearly I'm not going to get any peace and quiet here.

But he stops me, grabs me by the wrist and doesn't let go. His voice is smooth and his Seam grey eyes flare and gleam, melting into my Town blue ones. "Undersee, I didn't just flirt with you and try to kiss you because I wanted to hook up, I did it because I don't know what will make you like me. I want you to like me and I don't know how I'm supposed to do it because you're just different from everybody else. I'll do anything you want me to do, just tell me what you want and I'll do it."

I stare up at him, scared by the weight of his words and pull my wrist away from him. I try to back up but I feel drawn to him. "You've probably said that to a million other girls to get them to go to the slag heap with you, how am I supposed to believe anything you say?" I ask half-heartedly, trying to hold my guard up, but it's a challenge to keep my voice from faltering.

"I know I have that reputation, but hooking up with all those girls is like me trying to find some kind of… I don't know… connection with somebody. Somehow I can't connect to anybody I should; they're all Seam girls, and I bet the whole district would approve if I ended up with any one of them. And I don't want any of them because all I can think about is you." He draws in a deep breath before continuing, "I'm not big on emotions, and look at me spilling out my whole heart to you," he chuckles nervously at himself, running a hand through his hair. What I wouldn't do to run my own hands through that hair. "If you don't believe me, just walk away, Undersee. I'm not going to try to force you to believe me," he states plainly.

Part of me thinks he's a womanizer whose only goal is to hook up without having any feelings attached to his actions. Part of me wants to walk away and never talk to him again. But that part of me loses the battle.

"I believe you," I whisper, my gaze rising from the ground to meet his eyes. Something fills his eyes, something like hope, lighting his whole face. "But what am I supposed to do about that? You said it yourself; you're supposed to be with a Seam girl and I'm supposed to be with a Town boy."

He draws in a breath, the edges of his lips turning up ever so slightly. His eyes flicker from my eyes to my lips, and he comes even closer to me. My body unconsciously reacts, moving backward, and he steps towards me, his hands sliding around my waist as my back presses up against a tree. I gasp quietly, and his face dips slowly closer to mine. "Please tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this," he begs.

"I can't," I whimper, giving in to myself and to him.

The first kiss is small and chaste, testing the waters. As his lips fall over mine, my hands, which once hung limply by my sides, wander up around his neck. His lips linger for a moment, before he pulls back ever so slightly to look into my eyes. He kisses me again, this time with a passion I always knew existed deep inside of him. His hands trail from my waist up my sides and find their way to my face. His fingers are gentle around my neck as his thumbs graze over my cheeks. He tilts his head to the right a bit more, taking my bottom lip between his. His hands move from my neck to my hair as he takes out the elastic and brushes his fingers through it.

In one moment his lips are soft and gentle against mine, and in the next he becomes a rough and carnal being, taking my hands from his neck and holding them over my head on the tree he has me pinned against. I open my mouth slightly and he deepens the kiss, desperation overcoming us as we search for something we both tried to deny we wanted and finding only each other. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want this to last forever, with only Gale. With his body pressed flush against me and his lips kissing every inch of mine, I can't contain a soft moan of pleasure. He bites my bottom lip ever so gently, and even though I try to resist it again I can't help but moan into his mouth. I can feel him smile against me, pleased at the effect he has on me, and I decide to have to same effect on him. I pull my hands from his above my head, leaving his to lean against the tree, and tangle them in his hair, losing myself in the moment. I surprise myself with my own confidence as I slide my hands under his shirt, grazing over the muscles in his stomach and chest. Instead of leaving my hands there, I move them to his sides and pull his pelvis as close as I can to me. He growls into my mouth, and I smile that I got the same reaction from him, and I forcefully push his body away from me and seal the kiss.

"Wow," he breathes, taking a small step back.

"I know," I reply haughtily, and flip my hair over my shoulder as I walk past him. I do not look back when I walk away, through the forest, under the fence, and back into the district.

_Let him figure out what that means_, I think to myself with a smile.


End file.
